Dead
by Demonic Irken
Summary: In which Dib is facing inner conflict, and tries to end it all.


Dib stood at the edge of a cliff, looking down at the bottom, 50 feet below. He wanted to do this, he really did, but his survival instincts prevented him from carrying out his plans.

The voice lingered in the back of his mind, telling him his most feared revelations, though they were things that he had already known to be true for months.

_Your family hates you. Your life amounts to nothing, and they know it. Zim knows it, too. You've spent your life chasing after this alien who no one believes is real, and yet you have nothing to show for it. No proof of his existence, and no evidence to prove your claims._

"Be quiet," Dib whimpered, his mind a foggy mess of thoughts and dark beliefs. "Please stop."

_Do you think he is even real? Do you think that the reason no one believes you is because he does not really exist? Did you ever think that he is only the result of a damaged mind beyond the state of repair?_

The young child again stared down into the abyss below him, his conscience still prattling on in the darkest depths of his mind.

_No one cares about you or your stupid theories and facts. No one bothers to listen because everyone thinks you to be psychotic, and it might very well be true._

_Have you noticed the way they stare at you lately? At the dinner table, when you meet their eyes and they look away, it is because when they notice you, they do not see the face of their dear brother and son. No, what they really see is the face of a monster, and the eyes of a deranged individual._

Dib covered his ears to drown out his hidden thoughts, for all the good it did. "I don't want to know. Its not true. It's a lie."

_But it is not. You are just a chore to them, you are nothing but a burden, and you know, as they do, that everyone who has ever had the unpleasant experience of meeting you wishes that they hadn't. Your family wishes that they could be free of you, and they have even told you this, haven't they?_

_You know this is what they want, it is what they really need to be happy. They don't want you, they never will. You lay awake every night wishing things could be better, when you know that things will always be nothing but worse for you._

_Your girlfriend even left you not too long ago. Gretchen saw who you really were, and she abandoned you because of it. No one will ever love you because you don't deserve to be loved. You will be alone until death, and after you die, your body will be discarded with all the care of a used Kleenex._

_Your corpse will be thrown deep into the woods, where the scavengers will rip the flesh from your bones, and leave the rest to be devoured by the Earth. You won't be buried or cremated, because you will not be mourned by anybody. You will not be remembered by a single soul, and in a year's time everyone will have forgotten your name and face._

_You are forever unloved, you are nothing to no one. You are hated by everyone who knows you, and now, you might as well be better off with the dead, because the Living do not want you here._

Dib took a step forward, his foot touching open air. It was right, he was not meant to live, and even someone with half a brain could see that he was worthless to society.

He fell from the edge. The wind rustled his hair, and he closed his eyes.

As he hit the ground, pain erupted all over his body, he heard a faint snap in both of his legs, and he screamed. He whimpered in agony as vollies of pain hit him, unceasing, unrelenting. He deserved to be hurt, he deserved everything that was now happening.

The fall had not killed him as he had hoped it would, but he had been unlucky enough to still remain with the Living.

He crawled back to rest against a tree, blood spilling from his now broken legs.

He cried softly, and felt in his pocket, gripping the switchblade he had put there. He pulled it out, flicking it open and setting it to his wrists.

Cuts of varying sizes decorated his arms, and as he made new ones, he told himself that he deserved this. Everyone wanted to see him like this, in pain and wanting to die.

He sighed and relaxed his body, resigning himself to his fate as he drew the blade across his skin.


End file.
